Cat's Out...a Darla The Alpha Cat Novel

Chapter 8 - opening day

Our first argument begins almost immediately.

"No way." Grant swings the Firebird onto the freeway. "We are not going after some gang in the worst part of the city."

"You don't have to do anything," I say. "Just drop me at a corner and drive around or something."

"And later I can identify your mangled corpse for the police."

"I can take care of myself." What is it with guys and all this gotta-protect-the-girl BS?

"Yeah, about that. What did you do to that kid?"

"Oh, umm...just a little trick I learned in self-defense class."

"Really? I'm a black belt in taekwondo and my brother is a Navy Seal. He's showed me everything he's learned about hand-to-hand combat, and I've never seen the one where he can send me to my knees just by grabbing my arm."

"He was kinda scrawny. Didn't take much."

Grant shakes his head. "Whatever it was, it's not gonna work on a bunch of thugs with guns."

I drop it. Clearly, my knight has rusty armor. Not that I need a knight. But he could at least be my driver while I...what? I can't really waltz in there and beat up a whole gang. Unless...

No. Out of the question. I can barely control my temper in sweet-as-pie girl form. What kind of damage would I do if I went into this Choppy's all fangs and claws? And I might still get killed. I think. Crap! You'd think there'd be a manual for this sort of thing. Shapeshiifting For Dummies or something like that.

Grant drops me at my mother's house. "Hey." He grabs my wrist before I can escape. "Tell your mom what's up. Let the police handle it."

"Sure." Lots of luck. Even a Castle fan knew those rules. If she's not been missing for forty-eight hours, the cops won't lift a donut. And my second-hand telling of some kid's story won't prompt them much. "Thanks for the advice." I slam the door, wondering how many first dates ended with a missing persons report. I'm not very good at this whole romance thing.

Really, I shouldn't take it out on Grant. This isn't his problem. And all he wants to do is survive. Sounds reasonable. I do decide to take his advice and call the police. As expected, the woman who answered the phone informed me that I could file a missing person's report after the usual time has elapsed. We must make sure the criminals have ample time to dispose all the body parts, after all. She did say she'd pass along the information to their gangs unit, though, just in case they had any more information. I emailed Star's photo to the address she gave me and collapsed onto my bed.

Now what?

"Darla!" My mother's voice rang from the hall.

I ignore her. My door opens. Yeesh! Not big on privacy, is she?

"Sweetheart, come down stairs. I have something to show you."

"Can we later? I'm kinda tired."

"You'll want to see this. C'mon."

I groan and mutter something about this being summer vacation and roll off the bed. Mom is practically bouncing down the stairs. I catch up to her as she opens the front door.

"Surprise!" she yells.

It's a freakin' car. A shiny green Ford...tinycar. "You bought me a car?"

She grabs my hand and hauls me toward my new steed. "I know you'll be old enough to start driver's training later this summer, so I thought--"

"You thought you'd bribe me with a car." A Focus, I see now. Maybe she'd like to Focus on being an actual mother.

Her hand hesitates on the door handle. "It's not a bribe, Darla. Your father paid half."

"Well two bribes are better than one."

"Darla." Her voice hardens and her eyes narrow. "I know your life hasn't been the best--"

"Oh it's been great, mother. I live alone with a father who'd rather I'd never been born." My body fills with fire. I want to tear the doors off this stupid car and fling them into Lake Huron. Which is a distinct possibility.

"That's not true, Darla, he--"

"So what does 'I wanted a son' mean to you?"

"He doesn't resent you. It was me. I couldn't have more children."

"And I was the last. The one that screwed it up."

"Darla. We're not doing this now. The car isn't new, so it's not a big deal. If you don't want it, I can get rid of it."

"I'll tell you what you can do with it--" Wait, a little voice says in my head. This is transportation. You won't need Grant to take you anywhere. Okay, so I don't have a license. These are minor details to be dealt with later. I take a deep breath. "Fine. I'll take it."

She wraps me in a hug that almost feels as if she means it. "Good. I'll take you somewhere to start practicing tomorrow. Lots of vacant parking lots around here."

So I noticed. I haven't told her about my journey into the city today. And I suspect it's not a good idea to inform her now. I'll need the keys. "Can I sit in it and listen to the radio?"

She nods. "Of course. Just for a few minutes, though. You'll drain the battery." She pulls a keychain out of her pocket. It's a little baseball with the Old English D on the side. A single car key is attached.

"Thanks," I say, taking the key. "I won't kill the battery. Just wanna catch up on my NPR." Maybe a bit much.

She cocks an eyebrow and issues another warning. "Don't start it."

Bother. Well, it's not like I haven't sidestepped the vehicular rules before. I smile the canned sweet smile every girl is issued upon her second birthday. "Thanks, Mom."

Now, I have done plenty of stupid things in my life. Things like shoplifting a Snickers bar on a dare or asking a shapeshifter to chomp down on my forearm. I'm impulsive that way. But slipping out of the house after my mother and her man-toy have gone to bed, driving away in a brand new used car without a license or even a learner's permit to track down a Detroit gang may rank among my top 1 stupid moves of all time.

For the first time in my life it occurs to me how very little of the road headlights illuminate. At least I've had some practice driving. Of course, my father didn't know about any of those little adventures, either. Thanks to Cassie and Lydia Leach, he never would. It takes me a few minutes to get used to the little car, but I find that, by sticking to the side streets, I can manage it. I have my own Waze app pulled up on my phone, downloaded only an hour ago. I'm impulsive, but I can plan my impulsive behavior to some extent.

After narrowly missing at least 174 trash cans, parked cars, mail boxes, and one now very nervous cat, Waze says I'm only two miles from my destination, I find a White Castle parking lot and dock the Focus. I'm probably better off not trying to sneak into my target zone with the little car that looks like a shiny piece of green candy. It just screams "Carjack me!" Couldn't they have chosen a less obnoxious color? A nice Batmobile black would have been perfect.

I grab my bat--an actual wooden Louiseville slugger signed by Miguel Cabrera--out of the passenger seat and hold it alongside my arm. Not too obvious. But any cop with eyes could spot it. Not that carrying a bat around the streets of Detroit is illegal. It might arouse a bit of suspicion, though.

Following my phone's directions, I continue on foot. The city is even darker at night. Few street lamps are working, which is probably a blessing in disguise, but my stomach lurches with every shadow and sound. Supernatural powers or not, I feel like every step is taking me closer to my violent end. Finally, I stop at a sign that says Detroit City Limit. With one last look around in the darkness, I take a breath, which does nothing to stop my shaking, toss my bat up onto my shoulder, and step into my hunting ground.